My dearest Robbie...
Ohhhh, how to begin. I don't want to write this. I don't have any idea how to write this. I never thought I'd keep secrets that were buried so deep I couldn't even bear to see the words in front of me.
You're online now. I'm talking to you. I'm showing you a scene from my play.
Two years and a month ago, we were watching "Evita" together. I remember making love to you that night -- I remember like it happened twenty minutes ago. You made me feel so many things that I never imagined I'd feel. You made me feel as though I was uniting with a lost part of me. I remember you carrying me to my bed, and holding me, just holding me, and the two of us feeling each other's bodies for the first time. I was so scared. I was so happy.
I don't know if I can make you understand what that night meant to me. I loved you, Robbie. I just loved you. That was it. I didn't love you more afterwards; I didn't love you less -- I just loved you.
A month went by... It was the middle of May. You were barely speaking to me. I hated you for it, for just ditching me. I understood, but I still hated you for it. I loved you. I forgave you.
A month went by. I got my period. It was sort of light and didn't hurt much. I didn't really think about it much; I hadn't really made a habit of knowing what was going on with my stupid period. It was stupid and gross -- what else did I need to think about?
Another month went by. It was the middle of June. You still didn't talk to me much. Sometimes. But we weren't the friends we'd been. I loved you, Robbie, and I still hated you for being confused and for not wanting to be around me. I understood, but... it was so hard to deal...
A month went by. It was the middle of June. I got my period.
It was like dying. I remember being unable to move, and unable to stop moving, like if I stopped flexing and extending my arms, I'd pass out, or die, or something. I'm sure I looked like a fucking idiot, thrashing around on the couch, but I couldn't help it. I think I'd taken some aspirins or something, but I can't really remember. I only remember laying on the couch, laying my head against a pillow just in the same way I'd lain against your chest there... I remember being in too much pain to get up and go to the bathroom. I mean that very literally; I couldn't have gotten up if a gun had been shoved up against my head. And so I lay there, knowing blood was soaking through my stupid pad and probably getting all over my underwear and my jeans. There was so much blood. Even now, when my periods are always horrible and I regularly have to overdose on aspirin to even function, there's never so much blood. Robbie, it was so gross and so horrible.
I cried all that night. I cried as much as I could -- I think if I'd cried any harder I would have ruptured something. And I didn't really understand. There was this overwhelming sadness. Depression. Guilt. I wanted you with me. I was so sad, Robbie; I didn't want to live. And I was alone; I felt so alone.
I don't know if it was a miscarriage, honestly I don't know. I know I hurt more than I ever thought possible. I know there was more blood coming out of me than I ever thought possible -- thick gross blood. I know I have never been so unhappy in my life, never. But no, I'm not sure.
I told you. I had to tell you. I wasn't going to hide something like that. I said, "I think... I may have miscarried..." You said, no, I couldn't have, it wasn't possible, we'd used protection, something to that effect: something that sort of implied I was either lying or that I'd been with somebody else... But for however horrible it was for you to hear what I was telling you, and for however awful the whole thing was, you knew I needed you. You held me and you said you were sorry. I said I was sorry too. And we said we loved each other. Nothing more was ever said.
And Robbie, more things needed to be said. I never said anything more because it hurt and I was scared, and I kind of thought, "what if I was mistaken and I'm lying?" I know you were scared too, and terribly upset. I know you; I know you were. So we never said anything; it hurt too much to talk. But now, two years later, it hurts too much not to...
No, I don't know if I had a miscarriage. It could have been some fucked-up hormonal thing. It could have just been a really bad period. Maybe I ate a lot of salt that month and was retaining five extra gallons of water. I don't guess I'll ever know. For two years I've felt guilty because I thought, "what if I'm lying?"